Changeling
by Carmilla DeWinter
Summary: G1-ish AU. Being an adoptive child isn't easy. Especially if you find out your parents are lying about your origins. An OC based look on the Decepticon uprising.
1. Chapter 1

Changeling

Summary: G1-ish AU. Being an adoptive child isn't easy. Especially if you find out that your parents are lying to you about your origins. An OC based look into the Decepticon Uprising.

Disclaimer: I own neither the recognizable characters nor the basic concept. Therefore, I am not making any money off this.

Usual caveats: I am German. If you find any grammar or wording mistakes, please tell me so I can fix it.

Time measurements for this universe: 1 joor = 100 breems, 1 breem = 100 astroseconds or klicks, 20 joors = 1 orn or cycle, 1 decacycle = 10 orns, 2600 orns = 1 vorn

Author's notes: So, originally this came about as a companion piece of sorts to some slashiness. Figures it would be twice as long as originally planned and finished before the other fic. Fortunately, it works as a standalone, so I can post something, at least.

As stated above: this contains slash, that is, non-explicit intimacy between beings identifying as male.

The name 'Tempest' appears courtesy of Borath, though the characters are hardly similar. Go read her fic.

* * *

Minus 200 vorns

Already the tower was taller than Topside. He had to really stretch to put the new block on top. It wobbled, and he nudged it with a finger.

"Now you," he told Margin, who was staring at the door of the play center.

"Nuh-uh. Inference is gonna be here soon."

Margin's creator.

Topside frowned. "How'd you know?"

"I can feel it, dumbaft." Margin patted him on the helm. "We gotta tidy up."

It was just as well. Margin was taller than Topside. Trying to make the tower higher without him wouldn't work. Topside dropped to his knees and pulled out one of the bigger blocks at their tower's basement. The tower toppled over spectacularly, but it wasn't as good a feeling as it usually was.

How come Margin could feel his creators and Topside couldn't?

He sighed. He'd have to ask 'site or something.

xxx

"'site?" Topside asked when his creator was tucking him in.

"Yes?"

"Margin says he can feel his creators."

"Oh," 'site said. He vented some air in a sigh and sat down on Topside's berth. "That's… well, you see, some sparklings have stronger spark connections to their parents than others, so some can feel them very well and some can't."

"Hmm. So why can Margin do it and I can't?"

"No one can tell. It has nothing to do with how much the creators love their sparkling, or the other way round."

"Oh. Alright." Topside sat up and hugged 'site. "Love you," he murmured.

"I love you, too." 'site bent down to place a kiss on Topside's helm.

* * *

Minus 195 vorns

There were jets over Praxus that evening. Topside watched them drawing circles above the outskirts, their paint gleaming in the sunlight.

They were pretty. No, that was the wrong word. With how they always seemed to know what the others of their group were going to do, it was… it made him want to spread his arms and join them, have the air rushing along his frame.

Surely, there was no better feeling than that.

Eventually, a hand on his shoulders tore him back to the ground. "Time for your evening energon," Topic said.

"But." Topside turned to pout at his creator. "I wanna watch them some more."

"They're just Seekers."

Oh. In the stories, the Seekers were always the bad guys. "How'd you know it's Seekers and not some other jets?"

Topic sighed. "All tetrajets are Seekers. They're mass produced for the military, so they all have the same mold."

"But Seekers live in Vos. So what are they doing here?"

"They were probably ordered here to help searching for a criminal or a missing mech."

So they weren't all bad. "That's pretty neat."

"They're doing important jobs, certainly. But they're all programmed to be violent fighters, and to listen to orders, so they're not very bright."

Topside laid a hand on the windowpane. Somehow, those jets didn't look stupid. "I still wanna be a Seeker when I grow up."

Topic made a worried noise. "You don't want to be a flier, darling. They're either soldiers or shuttles. I know they look pretty, but they only get to fly when they're ordered."

"Hmm. Alright." Topside knew arguing was pointless. But really, there had to be a way to become a jet, and if there wasn't, he was at least going to move to Vos when he was older, so he could watch them all the time.

* * *

Minus 178 vorns

The Quintessons were acting up again in the colonies, so there were regular air patrols over Praxus. Topside loved it.

"Still watching the patrols?" 'site asked from the door.

Topside nodded without turning to look at his creator.

"Your recharge time started a breem ago."

"But-"

"But me no buts. Berth. Now."

Topside tried his pout, but 'site didn't relent.

* * *

Minus 163 vorns

"… Once the newspark is strong enough, he fissions from its carrier spark. And after two or three decacycles more, he's ready for his own shell!"

The teacher waited a little.

Most of Topside's classmates looked like they were thinking 'eww'.

"So," the teacher continued, "usually, a mech can only produce a newspark once, so only one in three mechs ever has a sibling. Margin is very lucky, because creation bonds taper off eventually, but brother bonds never do. He'll never be lonely again."

Out of the corner of his optics, Topside could see Margin beam.

But something was wrong with all this, so Topside raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"How do creation bonds work?" Topside asked.

The teacher inclined his head, as if he'd never heard that question before. "Ah. You see that a newspark is very helpless and can't even speak. So it's only logical he would retain a connection to his creators, because that's how they know what he needs and how he feels. When the sparkling grows, the bond weakens. So adults only have a very basic feeling of their creators, like if they're healthy or not, and that only over short distances."

Topside nodded, but he really felt as if he'd been hit over the head with the teacher's desk. 'site had lied.

'site had lied.

Everyone could feel their creators, so… so that meant 'site and Topic weren't Topside's creators at all. Weren't even related to him.

They'd probably stolen him somewhere, because where else did you get sparklings that weren't yours?

Topside kept to himself for the rest of the school orn, and when 'site came to fetch him he didn't greet him and didn't take the offered hand either.

"Wow, you're cranky today."

Topside grunted.

"What's wrong? Did you have a fight with Margin?"

"No."

"Then what happened?"

Topside stopped to glare up at 'site. "You stole me!"

'site leaned back a bit and looked surprised.

"You're not my creator, and if you don't return me, I'm going to tell the police!"

"Baby…"

"I'm not your baby!"

"Yes you are." And just like that, 'site grabbed him and held him close, and Topside kicked and struggled, but 'site wouldn't let go and instead made sounds as if Topside were hurt instead of angry. It made Topside sob, in the end, because it was all a lie and he wanted it to be real.

"Shush, baby. Who said I stole you?"

"Teacher explained 'bout creation bonds."

"I see." 'site kissed Topside's helm. "And you concluded you weren't mine."

Topside nodded and buried his face in 'site's shoulder.

"And you were right insofar as neither Topic nor I are your carrier or code-donor. We adopted you."

Huh?

"You know how it takes two mechs to make a sparkling?"

"Teacher said mates."

"That's not quite correct, I'm afraid. Sometimes two mechs do spark share without being mates. It's very complicated, but sometimes it happens, and then you have a mech carrying a newspark with no mate to care for him or the sparkling."

"Hmm."

"And some of those unfortunate mechs know they don't have the support or the credits to raise a sparkling on their own, so they ask Social Services to find a pair of mates who can provide for the sparkling. And such a couple then adopts the sparkling as their own.

"So I have no code relation to you, but I raised you and I love you just as much as if I'd carried you."

Topside looked at 'site's face, but there was no trace of a lie there. "So who is my carrier?"

"I don't know, baby. It's kept a secret, the law wants it that way. Only when you're an adult, you can inquire it of the Social Services."

"Right. But do you know why he didn't want me?"

'site looked at him, and he seemed very sad. "It has nothing to do with not wanting you. I'm sure he… he would have kept you if he could have. But he thought about your health and happiness first, so he offered you up for adoption."

"So… so he did want me?"

"A whole lot, I'm sure." 'site kissed Topside's helm again. "And I'm sure his decision wasn't easy. But in the end, he thought he wouldn't make as good a parent for you as we do."

"Oh. Alright."

"So you're still my sparkling?" 'site looked really anxious, as if he were afraid Topside would say no.

Topside nodded instead. But he was going to find his carrier, later, because he wanted to tell him how good he'd decided.

xxx

In the night, Topside woke up because 'site and Topic were arguing.

The words were low at first, but suddenly, Topic started yelling. "I don't care, you selfish slagger! He's ours, you should have waited."

'site didn't yell back, just used his normal voice, so Topside couldn't understand.

But shortly after that, there was the bump the couch always made on the wall when Topic sat down on it too fast. Topside cranked up the gain of his audios, and there they were again.

"… just hoped he'd never find out," Topic said.

"That's not feasible, and you know it."

Topic sighed. "Did you have to tell him he could inquire about his carrier?"

There was no audible answer, so Topside assumed 'site had shrugged.

"He'll hate us."

Huh?

"He won't. That Seeker didn't sign the NDA because we asked him to."

Oh. Topside was part Seeker. Wow! Sooo wow.

Maybe he could get wings, after all. Only 160 vorns more, and he could go inquire and get wings.

So. 'site had known it was a Seeker all along. But it was so cool, and maybe 'site had forgotten about it anyway, what with Topside so upset, so he'd forgive them.

He didn't really recharge much that night.

xxx

'site tried to get Topside to talk about his homework on the walk to school, but he was too tired to say much.

"Well then," 'site said when they'd reached the gate and stroked Topside's helm. "See you later, cranky bot."

Topside frowned up at him, but 'site only grinned and walked off.

"Soo…" came Margin's voice from behind. "What was that about… Crank?"

* * *

Minus 76 vorns

NDA. Non-disclosure agreement.

Topside stared at the text and tried to process that information. That 'site had always known no amount of inquiring would get Topside information about his carrier from the authorities.

It was a lie. It was the second lie, and he just didn't have it in him to forgive them for that. There could only be excuses again.

Things looked differently from this angle. The expensive toys, the trips to Iacon on school vacations. He'd always considered himself to have been a fairly happy sparkling, but in hindsight all of it acquired a bitter taste, like energon spoiled with copper.

So… he finally stopped telling people that his name wasn't Crank. At least he had earned that one, and it didn't sound like an obvious and desperate attempt to make him a part of _them_. He stopped calling Offsite by his nickname.

He heard them arguing about it and conclude that it had to be part of some youngling phase or other; he was reaching "that age", and that at least his grades weren't dropping.

Of course they weren't. Crank was seeing to it. He didn't think they'd finance his stay at an Academy if he announced he wasn't going to be a business administrator, as Topic so obviously hoped.

He did some digging – the information was there, but nobody ever talked about it.

There were generally more couples hoping to adopt than sparklings offered for adoption. Fifty percent of those sparklings came from Vos and Kaon. That was, from fifteen percent of the entire population. It took some very careful re-reading to realize those mechs weren't allowed to keep their offspring. The report said this was because most of them were underage, and that pointed to yet another revelation: someone kept them clueless on purpose.

There were also forums on the net for adoptive parents who'd "only" landed a sparkling from the south, and they commiserated with those who had already realized that their kid wasn't as bad as his reputation. Most of them said they weren't telling their adoptees where they'd been sparked, though.

It was an incredible injustice. There was no carrier making a difficult decision, only some hapless youngling being used as a breeder.

That settled it. Crank would find work in Vos and go looking for his creators, and then he'd create a riot on the media, so people would know. As to the work itself…

Profession orientation orns were coming up at the end of the vorn, the teachers were reminding them constantly that they were to find their 'jobs' without any help and to research different fields, so it was just a matter of a quick search about what the City of Vos was looking for by way of public servants.

xxx

Topic offered an indulgent smile at Crank's announcement he'd do his orientation in a hospital.

"It's good you didn't go the easy way and applied with us," he said. "And this kind of social work always looks good in a resume."

Crank nodded along.

* * *

tbc.


	2. Chapter 2

Changeling – Part 2

* * *

Minus 72 vorns

"Medicine," Topic said and looked at Crank over steepled fingers across the living room table.

"Yes. Sir. I have the grades for a scholarship, you won't have to pay for it."

Offsite shook his head. "It's not that we don't want to pay for it. But are you sure? You'll spend a good eighty vorns on that education and the wages aren't all that good."

Talk about skewed perception. The wages were fine, above average even. Compared to Topic's income, however, any salary a public servant received was measly.

"I wouldn't be doing it for the credits."

"That's a noble attitude," Topic said, "but are you sure that will be enough in the long run?"

"I'm not going into business administration, no matter how much you stall."

Offsite sighed. "It's not about that. We're just trying to make sure you'll be happy with your choice. We didn't," a short pause with a strained face, "adopt you so we'd have someone to help with the company one orn. I won't deny that we hoped for it, as any creator would, but you've never shown much interest, and we accept that. We'll be alright with whatever you choose, if we think it'll make you happy."

"And stop that nonsense about applying for a scholarship," Topic grumbled. "There's mechs depending on public funding, and it would be unfair to take advantage of the system if we don't need to do so."

Crank nodded, feeling ashamed suddenly. "Thank you."

"Oh baby." Offsite stood up to hug Crank. "You didn't really think we'd disown you over something so trivial."

Crank didn't answer, just leaned into his parent. Some sick little part of him had hoped they would throw a fit or several, so he'd have a reason to hate them, but they were supportive, had always been, and sometimes Crank thought he'd have to rip his spark in half to make sense of it all.

He buried his face in Offside's shoulder and let himself be rocked, as if he were a sparkling again, and innocent.

* * *

Minus 19 vorns

The comm. from Topic came one joor before Crank's shift ended.

"Get out of there now, pack and meet us at the Northern Gate in two joors."

"What?"

"There are rumors. The rebels are coming."

"Hmm." Trouble had been brewing in the southern cities for a while now. Ever since the Quintessons had left this sector of the galaxy, the Seekers had made the headlines with riots, and had finally banded together with some revolutionaries from Kaon to take over both cities. Polyhex had taken a good look at the situation and sided with them.

Crank had cheered quietly when that silver mech – Megatron? – had announced the South free.

Sentinel Prime had countered with somewhat martial rhetoric, so war shouldn't have been too much of a surprise.

"You know, they'll need every medic then."

"Topside…"

"I'm not leaving."

"The city doesn't have any defenses. I heard the shields are down, probably due to sabotage, and the army will never make it here on time. It's dangerous. Please."

"No. I'm a medic, I swore an oath. I can't just run at the first sign of trouble. I'm sorry. I'll try to get a message out when it's over."

"Don't do this to us."

"Look. I love you. I do. But I can't just run. It's not in me."

On the other side of the link, Topic sighed. "We love you, too. Will you at least meet us before we leave?"

"Of course."

Crank cut the link and tried to contact the hospital's director, who wasn't there, and, after a few more calls that ended in dead ends, decided that Topic wasn't the only one who'd heard the rumor. The so-called elite of Praxus had just decided to abandon ship and left the lower classes to crash.

So he called every news agency he could reach and then made an announcement via the building's comm.

He met Offsite and Topic at the gates two joors later, hugged them and wished them luck. They were going to stay with some distant relation at Nova Cronum, try to run the business from there.

He watched them vanish in the ever growing stream of refugees to the north.

xxx

Most had fled. Some impromptu militia had put up resistance, and the Academy was a smoking ruin now. Crank had to shake his head, they had chosen the most important place in the city to make their stand and die.

Now that the shooting had stopped, they met their new rulers on the plaza in front of the Emirate' Palace.

Megatron was huge, and there were honest to goodness, real Seekers.

"Who is in charge?" Megatron bellowed after the two groups had watched each other for a breem.

The question was not easily answered. In the end, the Palace's majordomos waved at Crank, and they made their way to the middle of the plaza.

"We're the spokesmechs," the majordomos said. "There currently is no one in charge."

Megatron grunted. "I see. Do you surrender?"

"The city of Praxus surrenders."

"Very well. I want a comprehensive list of the remaining inhabitants and their respective education. I want a list of any lodging and other building currently not in use. I also expect you to cooperate with any other requests I or my officers will have. Is that clear?"

"Of course. Sir. None of us particularly want trouble."

xxx

Things did change after Praxus was taken. First off, it was virtually deserted. Most of its two million inhabitants had succumbed to their fear, and the remaining ten or so thousand, together with some refugees from the suburbs, crowded together in the wealthier parts of town. Crank himself had packed his stuff and moved back to Topic's and Offsite's place, leaving his apartment to whoever saw fit to move in.

They put a grizzled miner, Hammerfall, in charge of the hospital's admin, and he, in turn, named Crank chief medic.

"But I'm underage, sir. And I'm not even a full medic."

Hammerfall grinned and waggled his feet. He'd put them on his desk and looked much like some crime lord. "Well, we only got three to choose from, right? Besides, you got the ball bearings to actually take charge."

"But I'm still the youngest-"

"I never been asked about my age, kid. Deal with it."

With only three medics left, things were busy, given that they got every emergency from the new Decepticon base, too, but the other two medics never complained that they now had to defer to a lowly intern.

After a decacycle of indecision, some Seeker named Arrowhead was appointed as the new Emirate, and the remaining people who didn't have some vital job were put to work in a new munitions factory or on the construction of better defenses. But all in all, they were treated decently enough, despite the rationing. The Seekers especially seemed to have a grudging respect for those that didn't balk at the first hint of danger or discomfort.

Sometimes, the place shook when the Autobots made an attempt to recover Praxus, but they never got close enough to even hit the newly installed shields. It was on those occasions that Crank stayed past his shift because there were going to be wounded.

Sometimes he was aware that he was helping the wrong side in this war effort. They all were, but it felt right. Seekers, as a rule, made better patients than the average Praxian. They frequently seemed surprised at how determined the medics were to do a good job.

And then there were things like these…

Seekers also were delighted to be in rooms with windows. At first, Crank hadn't believed it when one of his patients told him about that, how they had to bunk in some dark dorm and how it cost their money or dignity to make it into quarters with windows.

"I'd go stir crazy," Crank had said.

"Well. Take away the 'stir' and you get the outside opinion," the Seeker, some mech rather high ranking with a raspy voice, had deadpanned, optics never leaving the window. "It's not a surprise that this happened now, when there aren't any offworld wars to distract us anymore. The never gave us energon, and then they took away the circuses."

_And this one._

The light blue and anthracite Seeker had unsubspaced the portable gaming console as soon as he'd woken up from surgery and now, thirty breems past lights out, he was still at it.

After standing, unnoticed, in the doorway of the ward for a breem, Crank said, "You must really like that game."

The Seeker frowned and did some more finger-wriggling, probably pausing his game, before looking up at Crank with a somewhat bashful expression. "I found this," he explained, sounding timid, as if expecting a major scolding, "and it's – I've been saving up for one of those, for eternities, but." A wave of a hand to indicate that war had happened and made any savings worthless by having the state-issued accounts frozen.

Crank nodded, ignoring the fact the 'finding' of the console probably involved some breaking and entering. "I know they can be pretty addictive. But aren't you a little old for this?"

The Seeker frowned. "I'm forty five vorns. Is that really too old?"

"No. That sounds about right." Crank felt very tired suddenly, the sadness weighing him down. "But you still need to recharge. Save that game and get some rest, huh?"

The Seeker pouted but obeyed and curled up on his berth. Crank had the absurd urge to get one of the heat-dispersing blankets they kept around for shock patients, tuck the Seeker in and kiss him goodnight on the helm.

"Good night, kid," he said instead.

"Night," the Seeker murmured back.

It was somewhat disquieting to see that same kid's wingmates visiting the next orn and kissing him rather thoroughly.

When Crank made his rounds in the evening, he planned in some extra talk time with the kid.

"… so. Silverline, isn't it," Crank asked and let himself plop down on the unused berth in the ward.

The Seeker sighed and looked up from his game. "Yeah? Sir."

"Your two visitors this orn were your trine?"

"Sure."

"You're quite close, I presume."

Silverline blinked, as if confused. "They're my trine," which was obviously enough of an explanation for a Seeker.

"Hmm. I hate to be so blunt, but are you aware how sparklings get made?"

"Umm." Silverline found a sudden interest in his hands. "Yeah? Why?"

"Are you also aware how not to make sparklings?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. If you want, I can switch your baffle to default on. A medic will have to check that occasionally, but in general it's safer."

Silverline didn't say anything about that, but two decacycles later, he came in, ushering his two rather embarrassed trinemates.

From then on, Crank made a habit of addressing the matter with every Seeker that came in. Most of them took him up on his offer, if they hadn't already undergone the procedure. It seemed each of them knew stories of 'accidents' or 'scares' – that was how they put it. 'So and so had an accident,' they'd say. They consciously seemed to avoid the words 'sparkling', or 'carrying'. Naming the 'accidents' like that was already letting themselves get too close, Crank deduced.

_And this._

One orn, Crank met one of his old school teachers on his way to work. He'd been aware Subtext had stayed, but he'd never run into him again.

Nevertheless, Subtext stopped to chat, and after the usual small talk, Subtext said, "I actually shouldn't be feeling as well as I do."

Crank raised an optic ridge.

"At first, they put me to work in one of the factories. In my free time, I was teaching the few remaining younglings, together with two old colleagues. It was exhausting, but rewarding. And then I discovered my overseer couldn't write."

Crank's mouth fell open of its own accord. What?

"Exactly my reaction. He knew how to read, and consequently, how to type, but actual handwriting was out of the question."

"That's…"

"Preposterous, I'd say, if I didn't know better. Two cities full of adults who can't even write. Well. I offered to teach him, word got around, and now I'm into adult education." He offered a smile. "Then I thought, it makes some kind of dreadful sense. If you teach people how to write, you have to give them something to write, no? You automatically go into text composition and argumentation. So they weren't only denied a skill, they were denied basic education."

Crank nodded. "Keep them stupid…"

"My thought exactly. Only it didn't work in the long run, obviously. Anyhow. Sometimes I'm thinking I shouldn't be doing it, helping the enemy."

Crank nodded. "Sometimes, yeah, but then I see how surprised they are when you treat them decently."

Subtext sighed. "Yes. I try not to think about what made them so. It's a wonder most of them are sane." He shifted. "But I have to run now, else I'll be late for class. Just – my pupils are putting together a small online magazine every decacycle. Look at it sometime."


	3. Chapter 3

Changeling – Part 3

* * *

Minus 18 vorns

About a vorn after the occupation had begun, the frontlines shifted to Tarn territory. Injured military became the exception rather than the rule, and the base was kept on the barest minimum of personnel.

So the dark blue Seeker with the yellow highlights and an impressive hole in his wing – fist-sized, to be exact – came as somewhat of a surprise late one evening. He landed on Crank's operating table because people knew he never minded staying late if there were injuries to be repaired.

The Seeker – Jetstream, someone supplied – was out cold, probably from the pain. Crank set up a spark monitor, then ran a scan to make sure everything was as it should.

Jetstream felt somewhat familiar. It was an odd feeling, as if Crank's spark had suddenly decided to grow feet and pace in its casing. Gah. Crank shook his head and concentrated on the readings – all was well. He induced artificial stasis, inspected the wound, collected the necessary replacement parts and got to work.

He left Jetstream under when he went home for the night, with instructions for the morning shift to wake the Seeker. Jetstream needed at least another orn of rest anyway and two or three orns of light duty before he could fly again.

By the time Crank returned for his next shift, Jetstream had been moved to a ward and Crank had to wait to see him until he made his usual rounds. He saved the Seeker for last, figuring he'd need time to puzzle out what had caused the odd attraction he felt. It wasn't anything sexual, that much was clear.

Jetstream was reading when Crank entered the ward. He frowned at Crank, and suddenly, the weird feeling was back, Crank's spark jumping around in his chest as if trying to signal someone in a crowd.

Tilting his head, Jetstream considered Crank. "How old are you?" he asked.

"One hundred and eighty five. Why?"

"Hmm. Come here, please? I want to make sure of something."

Crank did. It was utterly ridiculous, but the request was so compelling, he couldn't refuse. When he finally stood near the berth, Jetstream reached out and drew Crank into a hug.

He should have been panicky. He should consider this an assault, defend himself, and yet Crank melted into the touch and felt safer than he ever had in his life. There was a warm presence around him, overflowing with love and a happiness so intense Crank nearly broke out into sobs. Nothing had ever felt more right, and there was the mystery of how he had lived without this before.

Eventually, reality returned somewhat, making him aware he was hiding his face in Jetstream's shoulder and that Jetstream was stroking his back in slow, soothing motions.

"Hey," Jetstream said when Crank finally found the courage to withdraw a little.

The joy abated somewhat, leaving love and a deep sense of insecurity. Suddenly, it occurred to Crank that Jetstream was feeling those things.

"What just happened?"

Jetstream sighed. "I got something back I thought I'd never have again. I never dared to hope I'd find you."

Huh. "Care to clarify?"

A small peck on his helm. "You're mine. I carried you."

Oh. Oh sweet Primus.

Crank found himself pulled into the Jetstream again, was glad he could hide his face, because he had no idea what to even feel; gratitude, loss, joy, guilt, all warring in his spark for dominance. And yet, he felt more home than ever before.

In the end, he had to let go because several people were clamoring for his presence over the comm., and for the first time ever he had the urge to tell them to shove it up their exhausts.

"I gotta go."

"Be back," Jetstream implored.

"Of course."

For the rest of his shift, Crank tried to make sense of what had happened. He'd imagined finding his creators countless times, but never had his fantasies contained this much anxiety and confusion, nor had they been able to prepare him to the experience of an actual creation bond, this certainty that was both intrusion and comfort.

Now, Crank was aware of what Jetstream was feeling at any given moment, the joy and the insecurities. It was somehow a relief that Jetstream was just as clueless as Crank about how to handle things. But as promised, Crank went to see his creator after his shift had ended, and for most of that time, Jetstream seemed content to be able to hold him.

"You have very strong shielding," Jetstream commented after a while. "I can barely get a sense of what you feel."

"You don't? I'm not doing it on purpose."

Jetstream nuzzled his helm. "It's alright. I suppose… I suppose it's from the separation. You might have thought I- I didn't want you or some such."

"Maybe." Crank remembered a conversation on a street, where he had come to that conclusion. "I can't remember things that early, but I don't think I was in any pain." But he had turned out to be guarded around strangers.

"Good. I'd worried. I was-" Jetstream sighed.

Suddenly, it occurred to Crank that his creator had lived with a Crank-sized hole in his spark all this time and had hurt. Every breem of every orn he had hurt.

"I'm sorry," Crank said. "I put you through-"

"Don't. It's not your fault. My trine and I were being careless all on our own. I've heard talk you're looking that people won't be careless anymore. It's. I'm very glad you do. What made you become a medic?"

Crank accepted the evasive maneuver and explained, trying to ignore Jetstream's sorrow and his slight jealousy at those other parents, because no matter how much he'd wanted to raise his own sparkling, he'd never have been able to afford an education for Crank. In the end, pride took over.

"You stayed around for us?"

"For the Seekers," Crank said. "It seemed like the right thing to do, and by the stories I've heard since then, I want you to win."

Jetstream smiled brilliantly and looked too young to be anyone's parent. "I'd like you to meet you other creators…"

So, the next orn Jetstream's trinemates (Crank's two code donors, which had always been in the realm of possibility, but was still mind-boggling) arrived.

They didn't bother much with introductions – Sunburst tackled him, Cloudscape followed and Jetstream joined after being outvoted, and they were content to have Crank in the middle of a Seeker-huddle, for lack of a better word.

It had been the best decision, in hindsight, because slowly, Crank felt their spark energies seep through him, and eventually he had an idea what they were feeling and who they were, on a basic level. Sunburst, ever bouncy and positive, Cloudscape, quiet and a bit of a dreamer. Jetstream to keep the outfit together and actually make the things happen the other two set their sights on.

Crank saw how he'd always figured into these hopes, and felt all the unconditional love for him, and felt guilty.

"You'll find reason to love us eventually," Cloudscape said. "It must be terribly strange for you. I can feel those other parents. It's only a rudimentary bond, but you do love them, even if you don't like them very much."

Primus. Crank was disappointing everyone, wasn't he.

"Don't. If you take in any way after us, you'll find a way for reconciliation."

xxx

Crank's new-old parents liked to drop by the hospital whenever they could. One orn, Sunburst stuck his head into the thankfully quiet ER.

"Stardust?"

Crank frowned. "We have no one of that name here."

Sunburst's optics widened. "Sorry. I meant you."

Huh. "My name is Crank."

"I. Sorry. I…"

Seeing Sunburst fumble for an explanation, Crank invited him into his office.

Sunburst nodded gratefully and followed Crank, where he wasted no time and hugged him. Crank let him, the explanation would come forth in its own time.

"It's what we called you," Sunburst offered eventually. "It wasn't right, and it wasn't particularly clever, because we always knew we'd have to surrender you, but we didn't want you to be an 'it' or and accident. So we called you Stardust."

Stuff of sparklings tales, food of the spirits and ghosts, as beautiful as it was intangible. Quaintly surreal, and yet so full of longing Crank could still taste it.

"I understand. It's a good name."

Sunburst snuggled a little closer.

xxx

They offered a flight display when he first came to see them at the base. They were good flyers, showing off their most daring maneuvers for him.

Crank was quite at a loss for appropriate words when Sunburst asked for praise, but they laughed his stuttering off.

"Poor kid is overwhelmed," Jetstream grinned. "How do you do it anyway?"

"Do what?"

"I'd go crazy if I had to stay on the ground all the time."

Crank blinked. "I don't know. I've never had that much of an urge to fly."

He felt their instant worry and promised to get info on Seeker programming from Vos right away.

xxx

"So?" Jetstream sat on one of the repair tables in the ER and dangled his feet.

"Some of the Seeker instincts were disabled. So I won't suffer from claustrophobia. And the trine thing – it's not activated yet. Maybe it should only go online in adult Seekers. A young Seeker would have his parents, and shouldn't have any interest in sexual relations anyway, which I understand trine bonds are."

Jetstream sighed. "Some aren't. Some mechs just don't click that way and go looking for mates outside the trine. But you're right." He sighed. "Kids shouldn't really want to trine."

So many things lost, innocence and the experience of growing up instead of being thrown into a situation well over anyone's head. Crank moved in to hug his creator a little.

* * *

Minus 17 vorns

Loving his creators was a gradual process, until one orn the bonds felt so natural Crank couldn't imagine ever having been without them. But, sometimes, Crank got the notion that they felt terribly lacking as parents.

Cloudscape was in such a desperate mood when he waited for Crank to complete some routine maintenance on a worker.

"You shouldn't feel so badly," Crank told him when they were alone. "You're doing great."

"We're not doing anything."

"You're there. You're role models and you teach me Seeker things. Basic facts I should have learned when I was much younger. All you're missing is a chance to teach me how to fly."

Cloudscape grinned, bad mood forgotten. "Now that would be something."

It was then that a very daring idea took hold.

* * *

Minus 16 vorns

"I don't like that look on your face," Jetstream said.

The other two nodded along.

Crank grinned. He'd invited them over to his place for the revelation and sat them down at his living room table so they wouldn't fall over. "It's nothing bad. I've just decided to petition Arrowhead for a remodeling."

"A what?"

"I'd like a flight capable frame."

Cloundscape tilted his head. "You don't have to do this just because you think it might please us."

"I know it would please you, but that's not why I want this. I want to be able to join you up there and be free."

They nodded; this was a sentiment they understood.

In the end, they didn't fall over, if you didn't count Sunburst's tipsy stumble over a chair after they'd done some celebrating.

xxx

"Are you sure?" Arrowhead asked and leaned back in his office chair.

"Sir?" It wasn't the question Crank had expected.

"You'll be facing extreme prejudice. Also, I understand your adoptive parents are quite wealthy. They might not like this decision."

Crank tilted his head. "They didn't like my decision to stay behind, either. What is right and what pleases others is sometimes two different things."

Arrowhead nodded. "Very well. We will grant you permission and the necessary parts and medic, but it is a costly operation, and we expect compensation."

Of course. Crank nodded for him to go on.

"You will serve us as a medical officer. We'll assign you to different bases and expect you to train the medics there until they deserve the title. We might also decide to ask you to serve as a field medic."

"Fair enough. Is there a time limit?"

Not for the teaching position, it seemed. Crank agreed anyway. It sounded like a worthwhile position, and he could always negotiate wages once there were credits to go around again.

xxx

Crank had never quite felt as self-conscious as this orn. His new shell was neither taller nor heavier, but he suddenly took up so much more space, and he was bright sparkling white, like a medic had to be, and too top heavy.

Getting his adult frame hadn't been quite as awkward, and then he'd felt he'd die of embarrassment.

The feeling intensified when he stuck his head outside medbay and found his creators lingering in the corridor. They were feeling somewhat nervous, too, which was a relief.

"Hey." Jetstream had spotted him. "Come on out. Don't be shy."

So Crank did, and fought the urge to duck his head. They circled him.

"We have one good looking kid," Sunburst concluded eventually.

Crank cringed and Jetstream laughed.

"Sorry," Sunburst said, "it's just…"

"You weren't ugly before," Cloudscape came to his rescue. "But we tend to find groundpounders clumsy."

"I'm sure Starscream would disagree," Sunburst said.

Jetstream decked him. The clang echoed through the hallways.

"The paintjob is quite striking," Cloudscape said, unperturbed by the small scuffle. "Why did you decide on it?"

Crank looked to the floor. "I'm a medic. I have to be mostly white." Which left forearms and thrusters, and he'd decided on dark blue with gold piping. "And, well. Stardust."

It made Cloudscape squeal and pounce.

xxx

The sensation of flight was overwhelming. It used every amount of concentration you had to spare, but the sky was vast before you, ready to carry you as long as the fuel would last, and after the first bout of exhilaration, serenity took hold, all that existed was the now, and it was true freedom. Not only could you go where ever you pleased, if you worked with the weather, no, every stupid concern was left behind on the ground.

It was better than any meditation exercise Crank had been taught during his tour through the educational institutions.

xxx

"Have a seat," was the first thing the Air Commander said after beckoning Crank inside his office.

People had patted his arm when he'd said Starscream wanted to see him. He hadn't told anyone he'd had that particular mech on his operating table once, before the latest promotion.

"Thank you, sir," Crank said and carefully sat down opposite of Starscream.

"There are a few formalities to sort out now that you've completed basic training. First, I have no less than three names listed for you. Which is correct?"

"They are all correct, but I prefer to be called Crank. Sir."

"Right." Starscream dabbed at the datapad he was holding. "You're most definitely Sunburst's offspring. I also remember we had the pleasure to talk once. The change suits you."

"Thank you, sir."

Starscream raised one corner of his mouth. "That brings us to our second problem. Our CMO is claiming you should be his subordinate. But you're also a Seeker."

"Umm. Sir? I've not taken the oath. It would clash somewhat with the medics oath."

"Hm." Starscream smirked. "So that's settled. Have fun with Hook."

"Thank you, I suppose. Sir."

Starscream's grin softened into a genuine smile. Wow. Starscream never smiled at anyone, according to rumors. Crank could see why. It made you realize the Seeker was the best looking mech in the entire army, hands down.

"So, scat," Starscream continued. "You'll have to introduce yourself to Hook, he's not one for making appointments."

"Thank you." Crank smiled back and walked out, feeling somewhat dreamy.

xxx

When Crank told Jetstream about the meeting with Starscream, his creator wound an arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

"Everyone gets a crush on him sooner or later. There's just the deterring fact that he's crushing on Megatron something fierce. He won't notice you flirting. Just so you're warned."

"He smiled at me."

Jetstream kissed Crank's helm. "That might mean he remembered you and thinks you're a potential friend or ally. But don't let it get your hopes up."

Crank sighed.

* * *

Minus 14 vorns

Crank's creators were waiting on the landing platform outside the Praxus base and moved in to hug him as soon as he had touched down.

Their joy and relief came through rather muted, and with a pang Crank realized that the bond would grow weaker from here on, and that he was, inevitably, growing up. He was in a good mind to ask for a transfer to Praxus, where he'd have more of a chance to see them and-

"Aw." Cloudscape nuzzled him. "Be grateful for what we had, instead. In another life, we might never have met."

"Yeah," Sunburst said. "So… it's high time you trined. You find yourself a mate over in Kokular base yet?"

Crank ducked his head and they laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

Changeling – Part 4

* * *

Minus 8 vorns

"That seat taken?"

Crank looked up. A storm colored Seeker was smiling at him, energon cube in hand.

"Nah," he said and kicked at the legs of the chair opposite of his to push it out from under the table. "Feel free."

"Thanks." The Seeker – Tempest, Crank remembered, and he had something to do with special ops – sat and smiled some more. "I've never seen you here before." He indicated the rec room.

"Comes with the job and somewhat denser than usual trainees." He'd arrived at Tarn East two decacycles ago, and had the feeling his stay would be rather prolonged. It wasn't much of a wonder they regularly had to ferry injured mechs out to other bases from here. "Why aren't you with your trine?"

Tempest turned in his seat to stare at the backs of two rather brightly colored Seekers sitting with some others who were closer to their age group. "Well. I'm boring, a killjoy and an antiquated model, according to them. They make me feel old."

Crank hummed an assent. They weren't even twenty vorns old yet. "These kids have a way of doing that. I'm not even of age myself, and still they tire me out."

"Yeah." Tempest took a sip of his energon. "I'm not the oldest here by far, but I still feel like I have to parent the lot of them."

"You and me both."

xxx

"Hey."

Crank looked up from his inventory list. Tempest was hovering in the doorway.

"Hey. I hope you're not here for repairs." Crank craned his head to inspect his friend.

"Nah. It's only my pride that's hurt. I thought I'd see if you needed some help."

"I'm taking inventory of spare parts. It's boring."

Tempest laughed. "I need to do something boring and adult right now. What do I do?"

Together, they finished the task rather quickly, so Crank saw nothing wrong to leave early. They'd hit a bit of a lull after the last battle, the Autobots were still regrouping. Crank's two underlings would do alright for a few joors without him hovering nearby.

"You're really off now?" Tempest seemed rather disbelieving.

"Yes."

"Wanna go flying?"

Well. Crank hadn't really had the chance to stretch his wings since he'd arrived here. "Sure."

* * *

Minus 6 vorns

"I yell and I reprimand and I remind and no matter what I do, they're not listening." Tempest took a swig of his high grade.

He'd uncovered it somewhere and asked to share it with Crank, because after a little scare with Tempest's trinemates, they both needed it. So Crank had invited Tempest into his rather cramped office, locked his door and let the mech rant.

"I wish I had some useful advice for you," Crank said.

"Hah." Tempest downed the rest of his cube. "It'd be wasted on those two, I swear." He sighed. "They're just babies, Crank. They shouldn't even be curious about things like that."

"Flighty's curious about everything," Crank pointed out. "And you know the influence he's got on Windsong."

"I know. I still feel like it's my fault."

"It's not. Even actual parents can't prevent things like this."

"With actual parents, they wouldn't be in this situation in the first place."

"Not now. But maybe later, and it would still be too early. Not even the fact that there would have been an exam in the end of the sex ed course would have kept them from experimenting."

Tempest leaned forward to bury his face in his hands.

"Look. Nothing happened. They're both alright if you don't count the scare and the embarrassment. Don't beat yourself up over it. If anything, I should have made them pay better attention at my lectures."

"Slag it all. We shouldn't even be in this situation."

"No," Crank said. "But it can't be helped now. We'll just have to win the war and see to it that the kids get a chance to be kids."

"Yeah. We can do that." Tempest smiled.

Something in Crank's fuel tanks wobbled at the sight, but surely it was the high grade.

* * *

Minus 5 vorns

The white and black mech paced, sensor panels fluttering. They'd never been introduced, but from briefings and the news Crank knew this was the Autobot second in command. Prowl. They'd brought the big guns for a lowly medic, and that couldn't be good.

Crank straightened in his chair. He wasn't going to let the mech weird him out.

"So." Prowl stopped abruptly and placed a datapad on the table. "We tried to verify your identification."

"And it's off," Crank concluded. "It would be."

"Is that so."

"I received a new frame eleven vorns ago. I also officially changed my name at the same time. It wouldn't be in your records."

"Indeed. And how were you turned from a hovercar design into this?"

"The normal way, I'd imagine. I wasn't awake for it."

A frown told Crank smart-aftery wasn't appreciated.

"My creators are Seekers. I asked for the new frame."

"You asked for this," Prowl repeated, as if the addition of wings were a mutilation beyond comprehension.

"Yes. Sir."

"Very well. We'll try to verify this. We'll also need to notify your legal guardians if you are truthful."

Crank snorted.

Prowl raised an optic ridge. "I fail to see the humor."

"Half the Seekers in my cell are underage. I wonder, do you ever bother with notifying their legal guardians?"

"Most of those mechs are dead."

"Yeah. Ever wonder why?"

"I have rather good evidence as to the reasoning, but that doesn't necessarily make it right."

"Apparently it was the only way to make someone listen."

The Autobot sighed, turned and left the interrogation room.

xxx

"Crank!"

Just as soon as the guards were out of immediate optic range, Crank had his arms full of worried Windsong.

"They didn't hurt you? You didn't tell them anything, did you?" Questions were followed by overly inquisitive hands that were ostensibly making sure he was in one piece.

"Whoa." He caught the hands before it turned into actual groping. "I'm a medic. It's not like I have any secrets to spill in the first place." Except to Tempest's actual occupation, but everyone had kept mum, and so nobody knew to even ask about it. "It was just about my shell upgrade."

"Oh. Right." Windsong beamed and nuzzled Crank's shoulder vents.

Uh-oh. "Look. Kid." Crank let the hands go and pushed Windsong half a step back. "You don't want to do this."

The kid, twenty vorns old now, frowned.

"I'd be using you, you understand? I don't like you in that way, and so I wouldn't be aiming for permanent."

Windsong twitched his nose. "That rarely stops anyone."

"It stops some people. You're like a sparkling to me, I couldn't do that to you."

Windsong moved in for another hug, but this time it was harmless. It was what Crank had dreamed about, bonding to Tempest (once he had the bearings to actually confess his crush), and maybe adopting Windsong and Flighty. But now Flighty was dead, and everything was off kilter.

"Go look after your trinemate for me, huh? I still have a round to complete."

Windsong nodded and trudged off, and Crank went to look after the other mechs in his cell. Nearly everyone had taken damage, and while the Autobots had seen to it that they weren't in any danger of bleeding out, that didn't mean people weren't in pain.

The kid was in recharge, leaning against Tempest, when Crank had finished his round.

"How are you?" Crank asked and sat down on Tempest's other side.

"Leg's still AWOL, but otherwise fine." Tempest wriggled his left knee for emphasis. Everything below it was missing.

Crank nodded at the humor.

"So. Thanks," Tempest said and pointed a thumb at Windsong.

"He would have hated me and himself later."

"Hm. He's rarely letting on how rattled he is. Flighty wasn't really good for him, but they were sparked at the same orn, and trine is trine. He is hoping you'll join us."

"Way to go about it. Besides, I'm not the only untrined flyer in here. So why me?"

Tempest chuckled. "He's got a case of hero worship. Like half the base."

Crank huffed. "Yeah. Right." He was a simple medic, for frag's sake, not a warrior, and was about to tell Tempest so when some odd emotion in Tempest's optics made him stop.

"Look. You aren't quite as pretty as Starscream, but you are striking enough. You have a commanding presence, but you're not abusing it. You're kind and thoughtful and you chose to fight with us. Knowing someone with your privileges gave them up over a ragtag bunch like us is somewhat humbling, you know. You saved each of our afts at least once. You're not afraid to take charge and to make difficult decisions. So, what's not to worship?"

Well. "I'm only trying to do what's right." And wait a klick. "You actually thought this over?"

"Oh. Yes." Tempest grinned. "One has to stay ahead of the competition."

Oh. Oh Primus. And here he'd thought Tempest was waiting for Flighty and Windsong to grow up.

A hand squeezed his. "I'm sorry. Just forget I wasn't joking."

Crank shook his head. "I just… I didn't think you'd consider me in that way."

"Look at me?"

Crank did and Tempest took the opportunity to lean in and touch their foreheads together. Making himself meet Tempest's optics, Crank found he'd never seen them so… intense before.

"You're reserved when it comes to romance. I had trouble puzzling out those signals of yours for a vorn or two."

Crank shuttered his optics. He wasn't even good at signaling when he wanted someone to notice.

"Crank." Tempest sounded pleading, so Crank onlined his optics again.

"Will you allow me to court you?" Tempest asked. "As lover and trinemate."

Seekers were odd that way. Not only did they announce that they'd start flirting in earnest, they also announced their objectives. In turn, they expected you to turn them down right away if either wasn't fitting.

"I'm not even a Seeker," Crank protested, even though he desperately wanted to say yes.

"I know. You're a medic first. I like that about you, how you live your oath. I wouldn't want you to be Seeker. But you're still of Vos and have as much right and need to trine as any of us."

Yeah. The trine subroutines had been dormant, but now that there was an offer, something made Crank's spark soar.

"So?" Tempest asked.

"Yes."

Tempest's optics shone more brightly than Crank had thought they could, and Crank stared back, amazed he could cause that much happiness in anyone. Answering joy made him nearly bubble over, and suddenly, in this overcrowded cell deep behind enemy lines, awaiting a future in a work camp, he felt at home.

Fighting the sudden urge to kiss Tempest senseless and to hug Windsong until the kid had dents, he decided on a chaste peck on the cheek for Tempest.

Tempest nuzzled back. "Get some recharge, love."

* * *

So, to the one reader who is actually admitting to their guilty pleasure: Garboil, you are quite welcome. I'm sure I don't derserve most of the praise. Also, there's other fic out there that mentions birth control. Mirage Shinkiro comes to mind, as does Oni Gil. (You're also welcome to disagree about my OTP. You do make some good points, though I'm happily ignoring them.)


	5. Chapter 5

Changeling – Part 5

* * *

Minus 5 vorns

"Oi! You, Seeker!"

Most heads turned to the bulky guard outside the cell.

"Which one?" Tempest drawled from beside Crank.

"The white one with the frilly decal."

Well. That left the choices somewhat limited. Crank stood up. "I'm a medic, not a Seeker."

"Don't ya get witty with me. Now move yer scrawny aft over here. Yer wanted fer questioning."

Oh well. "Of course."

Below Crank, Windsong made a disconcerted noise. Crank squatted down and kissed the kid on the helm. "I'll be alright. Look after Tempest for me, huh?"

Windsong nodded, looking as if he was about to cry. Poor thing was on his third trine in four vorns, you couldn't really blame him. Crank hugged him for a moment.

"Took yer sweet time," the guard grumbled, when he'd finally secured Crank with handcuffs and ushered him outside.

Crank didn't comment.

He was force marched (and occasionally shoved so he'd stumble) through dimly lit hallways. After a few breems, he found himself pushed into an interrogation room and shackled to one of the chairs at the table.

Half a joor passed. Windsong would drive Tempest insane with his fretting by now. The kid was as sweet as you'd hope, but their ongoing captivity in such close quarters with no glimpse of the sky had everyone in the cell on edge.

Crank had mediated in several fights already, and now he prayed everyone would still be in one piece when he returned.

More time trickled by.

Then, after nearly two joors, the door opened, some Autobot grunt, Prowl, and Crank's adoptive parents filed in.

So much for bringing it to them gently.

He'd have stood if not for the shackles, so he settled for an embarrassed face.

"Hi," he offered fake brightly, and, " Sir. Officer."

Prowl nodded in acknowledgement, while Topic and Offsite just stared and seemed also slightly intimidated. They took the seats Prowl asked them to take and then made a point of not looking at Crank.

The grunt retreated to lean to the wall near the door. Prowl took the chair opposite of Crank's.

"So," Prowl began after half a breem of smothering silence. "I assume you know these two civilians."

"Yeah… Topic? 'Site?" he tried.

Offsite glanced at him.

"I'm sorry about this. It's not the way I wanted you to find out."

Offsite shook his head.

"You don't really believe I'm the same kid you tucked in all those vorns ago," Crank concluded. "The one you had to shoo to recharge because he was watching the air patrols again."

That seemed to make them rethink their opinion. "We didn't think you were quite that determined to become flight-capable," Offsite said.

"I wasn't. I also overheard you arguing, that one night. After we'd fought on the street. I knew my carrier creator was a Seeker."

Offsite lowered his head.

"I did some digging, too, later on" Crank continued. "I had a pretty good idea what was going on in Vos, and I wanted it to end. I assumed you were in on the deal. That's why I never said anything, and that's why I stayed behind."

Topic frowned. "Which deal, exactly, are you referring to?"

"The one where you leave some sparklings in serious need of comfort with active reproductive programming and no sex ed."

Topic's optics grew wide. "You're joking."

"Given my information? No. This is not a joking matter."

"That's a serious accusation," Prowl interjected.

"I can back it up, if you'd be willing to listen. Given how the entire war started over someone's unwillingness to listen to perfectly reasonable requests."

Prowl nodded. "We'll talk about this at a later time."

"As you wish."

"Right," Topic said. "So how does helping Seekers translate into being one?"

"First, I'm a medic, not a Seeker. Being a Seeker requires taking an oath that's the opposite from what a medic is supposed to vow. As to the other part – I ran into my creators."

Both Topic and Offsite seemed to deflate, and both of them looked very vulnerable. It was odd, how, after everything, they still cared enough to give Crank the capacity to hurt them.

"I'm sorry I couldn't include you into the decision making. But I've never regretted it."

Topic shook his head. "If you weren't already down, I'd smack you for being the biggest fool on this planet."

"I don't feel particularly down. So if you think smacking me helps…"

"I wish it would."

There was little to say after that.

Prowl cleared his vocalizer, declaring visiting joors over, and, after letting Offsite hug Crank, he ushered them out, and the guard took Crank back to the cell.

Once Crank was rid of the handcuffs and the guard out of viewing range, Windsong snuggled close and wouldn't let go. Tempest took this monopolizing with equanimity and waited to kiss Crank hello until Windsong had drifted off to recharge, head in Crank's lap.

The kid was recharging a lot, too. Nine out of twenty joors per orn, that was almost as much recharge as Crank had needed at that age. Tempest had been right, in a way. Windsong was just a baby, and by unspoken consensus, he had become his and Tempest's baby. Crank tried not to feel too scared at that thought.

"So. Your adoptive parents, huh," Tempest said.

"Yes. Primus, it was awful. But at least I know now they really had no clue about that breeding system the emirate had going on."

"You didn't want to hate them," Tempest stated.

"I don't know if I've forgiven them yet. I love them, I do, but," Crank shook his head, unable to voice the sense of betrayal he still held. They'd lied.

"Shush, love. It'll work itself out, you just watch." Tempest put one arm around Crank's shoulders and tugged him closer for a kiss. Crank wanted more than that, needed some more substantial comfort, but that would have to wait until they had some privacy back.

xxx

The next orn, Crank was fetched again to meet Topic and Offsite, this time with no obvious chaperone.

"We hate to see you locked up," Offsite said.

"We'd bail you out if it were allowed for prisoners of war," Topic added. "But they might be inclined to have you moved to a regular prison after the trial."

What? "No!" Crank's optics went wide at the sudden panic that rippled through his spark. His trine, they'd take away his trine.

"Topside?" Offsite asked tentatively. "Are you alright?"

"No. You can't do that."

"Why ever not?"

Crank forced himself to cycle air normally. "First, I'd be the only POW in a jail full of criminals. I'd despise them, they'd hate me. The guards probably would have to stick me into solitary just to keep the other inmates from killing me."

They both looked crestfallen.

"But… wouldn't be solitary confinement an improvement? You're cooped up with twenty of those warmongers right now, and I don't think a camp would leave you with more privacy."

"How do you know where I'm kept?"

Topic shifted in his chair. "We were shown a few breems of your cell's surveillance last orn. So that we would know what to expect."

"Well. Even if it weren't for the obvious threat to my life, I'd still refuse. I have a trine down there, and they both need me more than you do."

"The ones you were… sitting with."

So they'd gotten to see more than they'd wanted. Maybe they even were under the delusion they had to save Crank from unwelcome advances.

"A mech missing a leg and a bereaved youngling. It'd be beyond cruel to leave that kid now."

"You're just a kid yourself," Offsite said plaintively.

"I am, or was, chief medical officer of the Decepticon Tarn East base. It was I who tipped off the media before the raid in Praxus. I stopped being a kid that orn. So excuse me if I feel capable of parenting a mech a tenth my age."

"He's that young?"

"He's just a baby. I didn't particularly want him to latch onto me, but I can't back out now. I won't leave him."

"Very well." Topic tilted his head and studied Crank. "He's chosen his protector well, I can see. We won't ask you to shirk your responsibilities."

"Just… don't do anything rash, please," Offsite said. "That mech missing a leg…"

"I'll notify you before it gets serious," Crank promised. It was serious, of course, but that bit the inevitable watchers didn't need to know. "He's Windsong's remaining trinemate. They are a package deal, and he's only marginally less shaken than the kid, only he's hiding it better."

They nodded.

"Well… we'll drop by again if they let us," Topic said. "And we'll be at the trial, of course. It's a pity they won't let us hire an attorney for you."

"No. It's good. It'd be unfair if I had one and no mech else."

"I suppose you're right, but maybe. Maybe they should allow everyone an attorney…" Offsite said.

"They should," Crank said. "But that's warfare."

Offsite shook his head.

* * *

Minus 4 vorns

Morning roll call. There was an unfamiliar, silver officer present, and the prisoners would have been whispering if they hadn't known better.

Crank rolled his shoulders. At least they put him to work in the base's small medbay, instead of making him work the mines or the shuttles. He wasn't as bored as everyone else.

The silver officer stepped forward. "Inmates numbers 0997, 1012 and 1015, you're with me."

Crank's trine. Now that was unusual. He exchanged a glance with Tempest. Windsong was too busy hanging on to Tempest, his anxiety a faint echo in Crank's spark.

Everyone else filed out to work, and they walked over to the silver officer.

"You're to pack and present yourself here again within half a joor."

"Of course, sir. May I ask why?"

"Prisoner exchange."

Windsong made a small squeal, then ducked. He'd been beaten for being too exuberant a few times.

The officer made a face. "Now, get."

xxx

The officer overseeing the exchange was Jetstream. They watched the Autobot shuttle leave the neutral ground before hugging.

"I still can't quite believe we have you back," Jetstream whispered. "Choosing that particular trinemate was quite the lucky decision."

"Yeah. Both our minds are probably too valuable to let them rot."

"Well, obviously they had to use you as the front. It's very lucky people had no idea of my position and the Autodorks let on I was part of your trine," Tempest offered from behind. "You want to introduce us?"

Crank did. Jetstream grinned like an idiot – the proud, dazed feeling of 'my youngling has trined!' filtered clearly over the bond – and was otherwise very embarrassing, asking any number of nosy questions during the flight home.

xxx

"Don't let them fluster you so," Tempest said once they were alone in their newly assigned quarters. "It's a very odd situation for everyone involved."

Crank sighed. "Still. They shouldn't have made it quite such a big deal." And alert everyone on base to the fact. Even the ones who didn't want to know. Especially those.

"They're just happy. And look on the bright side, they're watching Windsong for us."

"Uh-huh. They do."

Tempest tackled him and Crank let himself be wrestled onto the berth. Their cockpits ground together, sending a shiver of vibrations. Hmm. Having both time and room to play was new. No more stolen touches in the washracks.

"I'd say the mortification is worth the perks," Crank concluded.

Tempest grinned and dove in for a kiss.

* * *

Zero

The tower swayed slightly from an approaching storm, so Topic and Offsite hovered near the small penthouse's door while Crank hugged his creators goodbye.

They left with some last acrobatics.

"Will they be alright in this weather?" Offsite asked when they took the stairs back to the apartment.

"It's just wind," Crank said. "And they're good flyers. They'll consider it fun."

"Good."

Back in his parent's living room, he was presented with a cube of high grade.

"So," he said. "What do you think?"

Topic stared at his own cube, as if the energon's swirls would provide an answer. "We sometimes wondered where some of your idiosyncrasies came from. It's easy to see if one meets them."

"You're a rather lucky mixture of them," Offsite said. "I find them quite nice, if a little odd."

"Crude and unsophisticated," Crank supplied.

"No! But it's obvious they have no formal education."

"It's not their fault."

"We know that," Topic said. "They were out of their depth here, just like we were. We have no common interests beyond having to share you."

"Having them never made me love you any less."

"You're more relaxed around them," Offsite pointed out.

"We have less baggage," Crank said.

"What have we done to you that you carry such a grudge?"

Crank shuttered his optics for a nanoklick. "You lied. You knew where I came from, and you knew I was stolen. You knew I'd never find my creators through a simple query. Instead you fed my a story about my oh so selfless carrier."

"Well, what else could I have said? You were forty vorns old, you wouldn't have understood."

"There's a difference between glossing over the ugly parts and outright lying. Didn't you consider that I'd have found out you knew about the NDA eventually?"

"You would have," Topic conceded. "I know it… it wasn't right. We wanted things to be normal. That it would all go according to the self-help texts."

"They never mention sparklings from Vos or Kaon. We were at a loss and Social Services weren't helpful and," Offsite shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Crank stared for a moment. An apology, after all this time. "I won't say it's alright. Not yet. I understand your reasoning. But I'd trusted you, and then I couldn't."

"We just wanted you to love us."

"Well. I do. That's why it hurts in the first place." Crank stood up and locked himself into his old room.

He sobbed, trying to be silent, and wished he'd taken Tempest's offer of accompanying him. A vague brush of concern came over the trine link, and then his comm. crackled to life.

"Are you alright?"

"No. I'm just talking it out with my parents." He stifled another sob.

"Hush, love. I know you're hurt, but try to hear them out, huh? They didn't do it on purpose, I'm sure."

Crank breathed a few times. "I'll try," he said. "Thank you." He'd forgotten how lonely he'd felt back then.

"You're welcome. I love you."

"Love you, too," Crank said back and closed the communication. Then he rose from his spot on the floor and ventured outside.

They were huddling on the couch and looking very, very small. Sad and hopeful, even though they had to know they had no right to be so.

Crank stared at them for a while. They stared back.

Eventually, Offsite came over to him and drew him into a hug. "I'm sorry. We never realized why you'd become so distant. We were hurting because you were hurting, and I never guessed it was my fault. I was being selfish and wasn't thinking about the consequences. I never wanted to scare you away. Please forgive me."

Cycling air for a moment, Crank gathered his courage. "Yes," he said.

Offsite beamed at him, and Crank smiled back without having to force himself.

Fin

* * *

So... I hope all of you enjoyed reading. Even more thanks to those two of my readers who got out of the closet and publicly admitted to reading this (and even liking it).


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